Caran Amrún: Red Sunrise
by Mara-DragonMaster
Summary: A story of love that never dies. An epic war that is fought and won, passed down through the ages. Yet to truly understand all of this, one must live it...And make the greatest sacrifice of all...
1. ApaDae: Foreshadow

**"Caran Amrún" (Red Sunrise)**

Chapter One

_ApaDae (Foreshadow)_

* * *

Suddenly there was thunder, heavy and rolling and shaking the ground and the trees. As it ended there was woman's terrified cry coming from above them, and as Legolas looked up the branches bent down as something fell through them. A young woman fell through the air, hitting the ground with a resounding crack. She rolled to her side as she tried to regain her lost breath, setting her hands to the dirt beneath her.

Legolas stared, trying to comprehend what he saw before him; a woman with long, very dark brown hair, a white shirt with half-sleeves and what appeared to be a grey-checked shirt tied to her waist, and strange blue pants that appeared to be of a rough weave. Then the Uruk-hai, who had stopped their advance upon her appearance, gave a roar, intending to take advantage of their enemy's distraction. At a warning shout from Gimli, Legolas set several arrows to his bow and fired them in unison, taking down three of the advancing creatures. From the corner of his eye he saw an Uruk-hai bearing down on the woman, sword raised to strike, but the woman noticed, and with a look of panic she reached for the nearest weapon– the sword of a fallen Uruk-hai. As the creature reached her she shoved the sword up and into its belly. Eyes wide with shock she stared at its fallen body, before starting at the approach of yet another Uruk-hai from behind and swinging her sword around to cut it down. Firing arrow after arrow, finally resorting to his twin knives when he ran out, Legolas couldn't help but be impressed by her quick reflexes. For though she was obviously in shock and in a panic to find herself in the middle of a battle, her survival instinct was definitely alive and well as she cut down yet another Uruk-hai.

Ducking just as an enemy blade sung through the air above him, Legolas turned his mind back to the fight. He could hear Gimli behind him, the identifiable hacking sound of his ax followed by his roars of challenge and triumph. Aragorn was a few feet away, his sword flashing in the sunlight that filtered down through the trees.

The Uruk-hai seemed to come at them in a never-ending stream. At one point there was a yell of pain from the woman, but when Legolas turned it was just in time to see her drive her sword forward into chest of an Uruk-hai, her left hand blocking the creature's blade.

At the same time he saw an Uruk-hai coming up on the dwarf's blind spot. "Gimli!" he called.

The dwarf spun around, ax swinging in a high arc to land on the creature's head. With a nod to Legolas, Gimli turned to face another onslaught.

A horn suddenly cut through the sounds of battle, blowing again and again and again. Aragorn turned, his eyes growing wide. "Boromir!"

With a nod to him, assuring that they were behind him, Legolas spun his knives and shoved back, hearing the dying gurgle of an Uruk-hai a moment later.

* * *

They found Boromir lying amidst dozens of the dead creatures. He was pierced with many arrows, his skin wax from loss of blood. Aragorn knelt by his side, leaning over him and speaking quietly. Legolas and Gimli could not hear what was said, but they knew that their friend was dying. Beside them stood the woman, her face and arms and shirt soiled with black blood, her hair falling tangled about her face. Though he did not turn to look, Legolas heard her sink to her knees beside him.

Finally Aragorn rose, and they saw that he had wept. Boromir lay with closed eyes, his sword held to his chest, his face at peace. Turning, Aragorn looked at them. "We must send him back to Gondor." He said quietly. Then his eyes flickered to the ground beside Legolas. "My lady…"

"I'm sorry." She whispered, wiping her face with her right hand. She saw Aragorn's questioning look. "I know he was your friend." She pushed herself to her feet. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Once the arrows were removed, Boromir's face and hands were washed with water from the river. Then he was placed in one of the boats from Lorien, and his hands were crossed over his chest with his sword laid beside him. Then he was covered with his elven cloak.

Standing upon the riverbank, Aragorn said a few quiet words, a final blessing. Then the boat was pushed into the rushing water. The deed done Aragorn turned back to join his companions, but he paused, frowning. "Where is the lady?" he asked.

Glancing behind, where she had stood during Aragorn's blessing, Legolas and Gimli were surprised to find her gone. Gimli gave a low growl of confusion. "Now where could she have got to?" he said, turning in a circle

Legolas, his brows drawn slightly together, eyed the ground and saw the tracks leading downriver. When he looked up he saw Aragorn watching him. "I will find her." Legolas said quietly.

"And I shall go with you." Gimli declared.

Legolas turned to his friend. "No," he said. He looked up at Aragorn. "She appeared frightened. I will go alone."

The ranger nodded.

Legolas found her crouched beside the river, her mouth a thin line as she gingerly held her left hand in the cool, rushing water. As he approached she looked up quickly, her eyes betraying her continued unrest and wariness, her body tensing in preparation for flight or battle. Seeing it was only him and not an enemy a little of the tension left her, but he could still sense her uneasiness, like a bird ready to take flight at the first sign of danger.

He held out his hand. "It is only I." he said, approaching her slowly. Kneeling in the damp earth beside her he gestured to her hand, still held in the water. "May I?"

She stared at him a moment longer, then swallowed tightly, and she nodded. She offered him her hand, gleaming with water, and he noticed its trembling. Gently he took it, his fingers soft on her skin, and frowned in sympathy at the ragged cut that tore its way across the width of her palm.

"Mary."

Legolas looked up into her large dark eyes, which were gazing at him with an unreadable expression, and yet he recognized her attempt to reach out to him. "I am called Legolas." He said, giving her a soft smile before returning to his work.

There was a moment of silence as he washed the grime from her cut.

"I tried blocking one of their swords." She said, watching him work. There was a wry note in her voice. "Not the brightest thing to do, I guess. I should've just ducked."

A small chuckle escaped him.

When the wound was clean he pulled out a strip of cloth from the pouch on his belt and wrapped it around her hand. "You arrived in a most unusual way, fair lady." He said, tying the bandage gently but snugly. "Where are you from?"

A laugh escaped her. She looked away with an upward roll of her eyes, looking to the sky. "A long way from here, I can tell you that." At his questioning look she sighed. "Eau Claire, Wisconsin."

Legolas frowned, his head tilting. "I do not know this place."

Another wry laugh. "No, you wouldn't." Mary looked down, staring hard at her right hand, fisted atop her strange blue pants with its rough weave.

"How did you come to be here?"

"I don't know." She whispered. "I was reading some old notes from a writer, and the next thing I know I'm falling through the branches of trees into the middle of those huge, horrible–" she suddenly stopped, staring through the trees, and then she turned to him. "You're Legolas."

He nodded.

Her dark eyes narrowed, catching the afternoon sun and suddenly blazing like gold amber in the light. "And they," she pointed with her right hand down the river towards his companions. "Are Aragorn and Gimli."

Legolas adjusted his legs so that he no longer knelt, but crouched, leaning closer. "Yes." he answered.

She sat back, rolling her eyes, and then pressed the heel of her right hand to her eye, grimacing. "I don't believe this." She laughed. "I knew it right away, but– I'm in Lord of the Rings. This is crazy."

"Lady, of what do you speak?"

Two crystalline tears spilled out onto her cheeks, and raking her fingers through dark, straight hair she lifted her eyes to his. "Not only am I in a different place," she said matter of factly. "But I am in a different time, in a different world."

Legolas blinked in surprise. "I do not understand."

She shifted on her knees so that she was facing him fully. "I come from a completely different world." She said, her hands gesturing to illustrate her words. "A world that is also from a different time– I think. What I mean is, there, there are no Uruk-hai, no elves, no wizards, no goblins, no hobbits, no balrogs, no magic… Nothing. Only men. And there we don't cook over fires, we cook with machines called stoves. We don't ride horses everywhere, we drive machines that look like metal, horseless carriages. We don't fight with swords or bows, we shoot bullets from guns!" Mary shook her head, missing the confusion in Legolas' eyes. "I was sitting in my room, going over these notes from a guy named Tolkien, and I was reading a part out loud, a section where he had all of these elven phrases– or spells, I guess– and all of a sudden I felt like I was being pulled, and then there was this horrible jerk, and then I was falling– You know the rest." Another tear spilled onto her cheek, and she hastily wiped at it.

Legolas could hardly believe the tale she had just told, but then, he realized, he had been there when she had come through. When she had fallen from the sky. Brows drawing together he looked at her, noting her tears. "Are you alright?"

She shrugged, her shoulders sagging. "Don't mind me." She said, tears now trickling in a stream down her cheeks. "I mean, I'm thrilled that I'm here– it's like a dream come true for me– but I've just been warped from my world to here and been through my first battle _ever_." Pressing her hand to her face she shook her head, then looked up again, exhaling loudly. "Oh– This is just how women react to things: 'When in doubt: cry.'"

Despite himself, Legolas smiled. Mary noticed. "It's a very good strategy." She insisted, causing him to smile again. "Works every time for me." A chuckle escaped her, then she put a hand to her face again, a fresh onslaught of tears hitting her. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll be done in a minute."

"No, my lady." Legolas put a hand on her shoulder, offering his comfort. "Do not apologize. If what you say is true, then you have been through what no one else has."

She nodded, then looked at him. "You know what the funny thing is?" she said, wiping her cheeks vainly. "That doesn't bother me so much. It's the fighting." Her eyes looked over his shoulder, unfocusing. "I've never even hit someone before, much less put a sword through them."

Understanding and then sympathy lit Legolas' eyes.

Then she shook her head, emitting a fierce growl that surprised Legolas, and pressed the heels of both palms to her eyes. Muttering to herself for a moment, while Legolas looked on, she dropped her hands, breathing deeply and standing, her eyes dry. "At least my first kill was an Uruk-hai." She muttered. "That definitely eases the guilt."

Growing more and more amused with the strange, little woman, Legolas stood as well, and noted how small she actually was. No more than an inch or two over five feet, at most.

Mary noticed his eyes assessing her, and her own eyes narrowed back. "I'm five foot two inches." She said.

Legolas smiled, turning to head back with her to his companions. Not only was she small, and quick on her feet, but she was good at reading things. He would have to careful around this one.

Aragorn and Gimli looked up from going through their supplies. The ranger's grey eyes studied them quietly, and he stood, stepping towards them. "My lady." He said. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, reaching up with her hands to pull her hair back away from her face and off her shoulders. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"This is Mary." Legolas said. Then he proceeded to tell his companions the story that Mary had told him. At the end Aragorn studied her, his grey eyes serious and thoughtful.

"How did you come to know our names?" he asked.

Mary looked up from where she sat against the trunk of a tree. "Um–" she frowned, searching for words to explain. "On Earth, a man named Tolkien wrote about you and the One Ring."

There was a grunt of surprise from Gimli, and the ranger suddenly tensed. "What do you know of the Ring?"

"Everything. He wrote down this entire story, from how the Ring was created by Sauron to how the war ends and what happens to all of you after it."

Aragorn studied her, his eyes narrowed and dark with thought. Finally he turned to Legolas. "Sa na-minel nyáre se nyár. Tyaro le estel hen a n-bór?" he said. _It is (a) unique tale she tells. Do you trust her to be trustworthy?_

Legolas' face remained impassive. "Ni tyáro vá ist. Me cen manen se thi." _I do not know. We (did) see how she appeared._

"Lótesse n-sa na quenn ella-Saruman's rincs." _May be it is one of Saruman's tricks._

Mary had been staring at them intently as they spoke. Suddenly her voice interrupted. "Ni lau rinc ella-Saruman!" _I (am) no trick of Saruman!_

The two companions turned to her in surprise. "Le han min quettas?" Aragorn asked. _You understand our words?_

She gave a rueful grin. "É. Eva-ilya i nóre a am le gar-quenn man na mel-esse as Tolkien ar hon pennas' nia Endóre. Ni ngóla i lambe-s so toce ndu." _Indeed. Of all people to end up here, you have one who is in love with Tolkien and his stories about Middle Earth. I (even) learned the languages he wrote down._

"Can we please speak in the Common Tongue so that all present might know what is going on?" Gimli asked grumpily.

There was silence for a moment, each one regarding their new companion with pondering expressions, while she continued to lean back against the tree, resting her head back with her arms upon her drawn-up knees.

"I know you have no reason to believe me." She finally said. One eye squinted as she thought for a moment. "Gandalf was supposed to meet the hobbits at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree, but he didn't, because he was imprisoned by Saruman. He escaped with the help of one of the eagles. You led the hobbits to Rivendell. On Weathertop the Nazgul attacked and Frodo was stabbed after he put on the Ring. A piece of it remained in his shoulder, until Elrond was able to remove it and heal him. Gandalf then fell in Moria battling a Balrog. You went to Lothlorien, where you were given sanctuary by Galadriel and Celeborn. You are just traveling from there now, but Frodo disappeared and so did Boromir, and when you split into groups to find them Uruk-hai attacked." She looked at Gimli. "You were cousin to Balin, who took a band of dwarves to Moria I'm sorry you found his tomb instead of his company." She looked at Legolas. "Your mother was injured when Orcs attacked her company, and to save her life she was sent early into the West and across the Sea." She looked at Aragorn. "You are the heir of Isildur, adopted son of Elrond, and you love the lady Arwen. But you cannot wed unless you take up your birthright, something you don't want to do. While journeying from Weathertop you found a green jewel upon a bridge, a sign that Glorfindel was there, and you had Bilbo include that same green jewel in the song he was writing when you arrived at Rivendell."

The three companions stared at her in shocked silence. It was obvious that she knew more about them than she had said, but she had chosen carefully and only repeated information that would be fine for others to hear– and yet it was information that was personal and individual to each, so that they knew she spoke the truth.

Aragorn looked down, processing what he had just learned, and when he looked up again his eyes were no longer dark with mistrust. "Forgive me, my lady." He said, placing a hand over his heart.

"You know what is to happen?" Gimli said, leaning forward with his dark eyes glittering with interest.

Her face suddenly went blank, her eyes widening slightly. "Yes," she said slowly.

"Then tell us!"

Her thoughts raced visibly behind her eyes. "I– um–" she swallowed, glancing from one companion to the other. "I– I can't."

Gimli frowned. "Why?"

Her eyes fell to the ground, her thoughts still racing. "If I tell you something that's going to happen," she said slowly. "What if, by doing that, I change the future?" she looked up. "I could end up changing everything that happens."

Gimli gave a 'humph,' but Aragorn and Legolas looked at her approvingly. The ranger nodded. "You are wise," he said. Then he said, "Do not tell us anything, then, unless you feel it is right and safe to do so."

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

Legolas then went to one of their boats, and started to push it into the water. "Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore."

Mary stood up, watching as Aragorn rubbed at his wrist, a grim expression on his face. He did not move.

For a moment a disbelieving expression touched Legolas' face, and then was replaced by a frown. "You mean not to follow them?" he said quietly.

Aragorn looked up, gazing out across the river to the two small figures disappearing amidst the trees. "Frodo's fate," he said. "Is no longer in our hands."

A growl from the dwarf caused them to turn. "Then it has all been in vain!" Gimli ground out. "The Fellowship has failed."

Aragorn reached out his hands, gripping his companions' shoulders, and he stopped them with an iron stare. "Not if we hold true to each other." His voice was low, brooking no argument. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left!"

A light began to glint in the elven prince's eyes.

"Leave all that can be spared behind." Aragorn ordered, turning to retrieve a dagger. "We travel light." He turned, stabbing the dagger into his belt. "Let us hunt some Orc!"

Elf and dwarf glanced at each other, then Gimli gave a battle roar, his dark eyes glittering, and Legolas smiled. As dwarf and man began to run, turning into the forest, he paused and looked behind. Mary had left her place at the tree and was starting to follow, but her face had a strange expression on it– one of doubt. "Aragorn!" Legolas called, and the ranger turned. "What of the lady Mary?"

Dark eyes looked at him in surprise, then she smiled. "There's no way I'd keep up with you." She said. "You go on ahead. I know where you're going– I'll meet up with you."

"Are you sure?" Legolas asked, his voice low.

She nodded. "Yes. Now go! Your friends need you."

With a final glance behind, Legolas turned and took off, running lightly over logs and around trees, keeping up easily with his two companions.

They disappeared quickly from sight. In their absence the silence was overpowering, every rustle in the trees causing her to jump and turn, searching for an enemy that was not there. "Get a grip, Mary." She muttered to herself, backing up to one of the boats. "Use your head!" Turning, she searched the two remaining boats for supplies– those that were left behind by the three companions to make their travel easier. She found no lembas, but she did find a pack that had flint, some stale bread, and dried meat and mushrooms. She laughed a little, but her laughter quickly died. She had found within a small, rolled satchel of weed– from the South Farthing. It was Merry or Pippin's pack. She quickly found the second one, and combined the food into a single pack, strapping it to her back. Then she looked around, searching the bodies of the Uruk-hai, and retrieved a knife and a sword. She wasn't sure how well she could run carrying the sword, but the thought of having only a knife to defend herself, should she come across more Orcs or Uruk-hai, was a terrifying thought.

Glancing around once more, Mary realized that there was nothing else for her to bring. So she turned, and eyed the forest in the direction the companions had gone. _Of all places for me to end up_, she thought. _I end up here, in Middle Earth, which I'm obsessed with._ "At least I know almost everything about it." she said aloud. Then she took off, settling into a steady, fast jog.

* * *

Legolas eyed the Rohan captain warily, his bow– though lowered– still ready in his hands. He did not care for those who would threaten his friends.

"We are no spies." Aragorn was saying. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive."

A grim expression crossed the captain's face. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

A cold fist of fear clenched in Legolas' chest. Gimli moved forward, raising his hands desperately. "But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?"

Aragorn lifted one hand above the ground, indicating height. "They would be small– only children to your eyes."

Éomer shook his head. "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them."

Gimli's mouth opened in shock. "Dead?"

Sympathy darkened Éomer's eyes, and he nodded. "I am sorry."

Legolas lowered his head, unwilling to believe what the captain had just told them. He laid a hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

Éomer regarded them for a moment, then he turned and whistled. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two beautiful horses answered his call, and stood quietly. Éomer turned to the companions. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." He said quietly. "Farewell." Sliding his helmet back into place, he turned, swiftly mounting his own horse. "Look for your friends," he said. "But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands."

As the captain, Éomer, turned to command his men, Legolas suddenly stepped forward. "My lord."

Éomer turned to him, his horse dancing.

"Another of our companions follows us." Legolas said, pointing to the east. "A lady, from a strange land, and dressed in strange clothes. She travels on foot. If you meet her, will you lend her your aid?"

Éomer regarded him for a moment. "How far behind you is she?" he asked.

"No more than a day. Perhaps less."

The horse beneath the captain turned, dancing in a circle. Turning to face the elf once more, Éomer nodded. "We shall aid her, should we cross her path."

Legolas tipped his head in gratitude.

"We ride east, then north!" Éomer called to his men. A moment later the ground thundered as the horses sped past them, disappearing over the hill.

* * *

Mary jogged, ignoring the constant burn of her legs. She found that if she sang to herself– not out loud, as she had no breath, but in her head– that time passed much more in a blur, and before long she would suddenly realize that several hours had passed. She paused a moment, on a rise in the Rohan plains, and bent low with her hands on her knees. Breathing heavily she took the moment to regroup. Then she straightened, knowing that if she stopped for too long she wouldn't be able to start again. Then a dark cloud on the far plains caught her eyes, moving steadily towards her. Mary squinted, her dark eyes straining. It was a company of riders. They were growing steadily nearer, so she stayed where she was, hands on her hips, walking back and forth. Suddenly there was a call from one of the men, and then the group headed straight for her, and then the horses were streaming past her. The ground shook beneath her feet, and she could feel the wind of their passing on either side. Within moments she was encircled, and a man with a crested helmet pulled in front of her. His eyes roved over her, taking in her strange pants and shirts. "What business have you in the Riddermark, lady?"

Mary eyed the men surrounding her, their spears held ready. Swallowing she turned back to their captain. "I'm following my friends. You've met them: a man, an elf, and a dwarf."

Éomer studied her. "How do you know we have met such an interesting group of travelers?"

Mary felt her throat tighten; she needed to be more careful about what she said. "You come from the direction they were headed." She pointed west.

He studied her a moment more. "I do not believe so." He said in a low voice.

Mary said nothing, returning his stare with one of her own.

Finally Éomer sat back. "Very well." He said. "We have seen strange things these past few days." He gestured to a rider who led a dark brown horse with a black mane and tail. The man let the horse go. Whistling, Éomer beckoned, and the horse gave a snort and came forward. "This is Ædelstan." He said, stroking the smooth hair of the horse's cheek. Éomer looked at Mary. "We were asked to aid you– should we cross your path, and we have." He bumped his horse's sides with his heels, and stepped closer to her, then he took Ædelstan's reins and held them out. "May he carry you safely to your friends."

Mary took the reins, stroking Ædelstan's face as he nuzzled her shoulder curiously. "Thank you, Lord Éomer." She whispered.

The captain leaned back on his horse. "The elf was right," he said thoughtfully. "You are a strange one."

Mary frowned. "My lord?"

"I did not tell you my name."

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she felt sure that all around could see her turn red.

"We have indeed seen many strange things these past few days." Éomer said quietly. His dark eyes held her. Then he turned to his men, and raised his hand. As they began to thunder past her, Éomer looked down. "Be well, fair lady."

Mary tipped her head.

He was gone.

Running her hand along the strong, brown neck, Mary hooked one foot into the stirrup, grunting as she swung herself onto the back of the horse, which was higher than she was. Settling herself, she took the reins. "I really need to learn to watch what I say." She said. The horse's ears pricked, listening to her. "Well, Ædelstan, my name is Mary." She said, ruffling the black mane. "Looks like we're going to be traveling together for a while." With that she bumped his sides with her heels, holding on as he began to walk, and then to trot, and then to gallop, his rhythm so smooth beneath her it was as though she were flying.

* * *

The hobbits lived! Their joy at discovering that Merry and Pippin had escaped was paralleled by their fear when they found that the trail of the halflings led into Fangorn Forest. Yet within those trees they were blessed yet again. A man in white had approached them, and he turned out to be none other than Gandalf, resurrected and all in white, and more powerful than ever. From him they learned that Merry and Pippin had been found by the Ent, Treebeard, and that they were well taken care of. They also learned that Rohan was in danger, as Saruman had gained control over King Theoden. It was to Edoras they had to go. In short words they told of what had happened to them since Moria. Gandalf was grieved to learn of Boromir, yet his eyes pricked with light when they spoke of Mary and her arrival.

"Most interesting." He said quietly.

At the edge of the forest, the great expanse of the Rohan plains stretching before them, Gandalf paused. Then a whistle, as clear as the morning and as pure as rain, echoed loud in the silence, carrying far and wide on the wind. For a moment, then, there was nothing.

Suddenly a horse's call answered, and a horse as white as pure snow appeared in the distance, followed by Hasufel and Arod. They grew quickly closer, the white horse's great hooves churning the ground with his speed.

Legolas squinted, an expression of quiet amazement on his face. "That is one of the Mearas," he said. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

Gandalf smiled as the white horse stopped before him, his silken mane shining in the sun. "Shadowfax." He ran his hand along the great white neck. "He's the lord of all horses, and he's been my friend through many dangers."

Legolas watched in wonder. Then suddenly his eyes were caught by something else, and he stepped forward, straining to see. Appearing in the distance, a fourth horse approached, a rider upon its back.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked at the elf's shoulder. "What do you see?"

With narrowed eyes Legolas watched horse and rider approach, then his eyes widened. "It is the lady Mary!"

"Indeed?" Gandalf stepped up, his face lit with interest. "She rides well." He commented.

Pulling to a stop before them, Mary pushed her wind blown hair from her face. When her eyes lit upon Gandalf they widened, and she quickly dismounted. "Gandalf the White," she bent in a bow. "It's an honor to meet you!"

"And you." Gandalf said, his eyes twinkling. "I have much to ask you, when there is time."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, positively glowing with pleasure and delight as she stared at him.

"Come!" Gandalf swung onto Shadowfax's bare back. "We must hurry."

Aragorn mounted Hasufel swiftly, while Gimli struggled onto Arod's back with many grunts and curses. When he was finally settled, Legolas pulled himself easily into the saddle, and turned to see if Mary needed assistance. She was already astride Ædelstan, ready to ride.

Gandalf nodded. "To Edoras!"

* * *


	2. Apacenya Nienor: Foreseeing Sorrow

**"Caran Amrún" (Red Sunrise)**

Chapter Two

_Apacenya Nienor (Foreseeing Sorrow)_

* * *

Mary hung back in the shadows of the great hall, watching as all left to watch the king chase after Grima, who ran from him like a hare runs from a wolf. She had received several strange looks, but mostly the men's attention was on their king. When all had gone silent, Mary peeked out from behind a pillar. At the same moment there was a great wail of grief, and she bit her lip. Théoden must have just learned of his son's death.

Eventually Gandalf and the three companions returned to the hall, where they spoke with Théoden– explaining their purpose there, and who the companions were and why they were with Gandalf. Mary hung back, suddenly frightened. She looked down at her pants, worn and dirty from travel, and rubbed her dirty hands on their rough blue weave. She looked at her white short-sleeved shirt, and the open, grey-checked button shirt over it. How would she appear to Théoden? How would she act before him? Here, in Edoras, the extent of her strangeness compared to the world around her was suddenly painfully noticeable.

She realized that the hall was quiet. Looking up she saw that all eyes were on her, and she swallowed, shifting. Gandalf held out his hand, offering her a reassuring smile. Slowly she stepped forward.

"This is the lady Mary." Gandalf said, presenting her to Théoden.

The king studied her, one hand held to his chin in thought. "You are the lady that fell from the sky?" he asked.

Mary nodded. "I am, My Lord."

"I have heard from some that you know things."

Mary tried to keep her face neutral. "I'm not sure I understand, My Lord."

"A rider, who had been traveling with my sister's son, Éomer, returned this morning to tell of a young lady who knew of Éomer before ever he identified himself. And that this same lady knew that he had seen and aided three companions."

Mary suddenly felt four pairs of eyes boring into her from all sides, besides the king. Swallowing– and finding herself unable to– she finally nodded.

Théoden stood and descended the steps from his throne. His face was grim. When he stood before her he studied her for a moment. Then he placed a hand over his heart, and bowed. "Welcome to Edoras, Lady Mary." Straightening he smiled, and he took her hand in his. "It is an honor to have you in my home."

The rush of relief was so great that for a moment Mary felt light-headed. Locking her knees, she tipped her head. "Thank you, Sire."

Théoden nodded. Then his eyes became grave, and he addressed the whole company. "This afternoon we bury my son." He said. "Until then, if you would like to cleanse yourself from your journey, there are rooms set aside for you."

Gandalf nodded. Behind him there was a pleased sigh from Gimli.

Théoden held out his hands. "Come. I will lead you to your rooms." He looked at Mary. "My sister's daughter, Éowyn, shall lead you, my lady."

Éowyn stepped forward from where she had stood, hidden from Mary's sight, behind her uncle's throne. Though her eyes were weary with grief she smiled, and held out her hand. Glancing back at Gandalf, and then at Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli in turn, Mary stepped forward to follow her.

The room was dark, lit by a few candles, which danced along the intricately carved wood that lined the walls and the ceiling. A basin of water was brought in, with a clean towel. As Éowyn sent the servants away she glanced at Mary, taking in her soiled clothes and tangled hair. Then she went to a large chest and opened it, sorting through the contents. "I hope the room is to your liking." She said. Her voice was soft, yet strong and noble.

Mary nodded, pulling the grey button shirt off and laying it across a chair. "Yes. Thank you."

Éowyn stood and smiled, clothing draped over her arm. She laid it on the bed, then turned, her eyes still studying Mary. "Your clothes are strange." She finally said, albeit hesitantly, as though afraid she might offend.

Mary glanced down. "Yeah, I guess they are." She chuckled slightly.

Encouraged by her answer, Éowyn stepped closer, her head tilted in curiosity. "Do all women dress as you do in your land?"

"Yes," Mary said. Éowyn's calm manner helped to soothe her earlier fears. "Well, not always. We do wear dresses. Sometimes."

Éowyn nodded, and smiled. "I will leave you to wash." She said. Turning, she headed for the door, but then she paused and turned back. "Would you like me to return when you are dressed?" she asked. "To help with the laces, and your hair."

Mary nodded with relief. "Yes. Thank you."

Éowyn smiled once more, and left.

Mary pulled off her shirt, and slid her pants to the floor and stepped out of them. When she was completely undressed she stood at the basin and washed her arms and her face and her neck. It felt so good to rinse away the dirt and the grime! When she was done she took the towel and dried herself. With it wrapped around her body she went to the bed, and looked at the garments laid out for her. There were two separate outfits, one for regular wear, and the other apparently for the funeral. Reaching for the latter, Mary let the towel fall, and she slid over her head the white under-dress that fell, straight and simple, over her. Then she took the funeral dress itself, and slid it over her head. It fell to her feet, heavy and dark, with winged sleeves that were lined with red. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in." Mary called.

The door opened, and Éowyn entered, carrying several things in her hands. "Here," she said, smiling. "I will tie the back for you." Setting the items on the bed she gently gathered Mary's hair and laid it over one shoulder, then quickly tied the laces on the back of the dress. Then she lifted a brocaded belt of gold and red flowers, the cloth the same as the dress, and fastened it around Mary's hips.

"Thank you." Mary said, running her hands across the fabric.

Éowyn smiled, and patted the bed. "Sit here." She instructed, and settled herself behind Mary. Picking up one of the items she had brought in– a comb– she began to brush through the dark tangles. As they loosened, one by one, she spoke. "Do you really know the future?"

Mary tensed. For a moment she said nothing. "I know some things." She finally answered.

Éowyn continued to work with her hair. It felt as though she were braiding it. "I overheard your companions speaking of you." She said quietly. "Some people claim you are a prophetess."

"I don't know about that." Mary said under her breath.

Éowyn heard, but did not comment. She pulled the braids back, twining them into one long braid that knotted and twisted together, laying smooth against the rest of her hair. "There." Éowyn said. "You are ready." She smiled as Mary turned. "Your companions are in the Hall should you wish to join them."

"Thank you."

Gathering the comb and Mary's old clothes, Éowyn left the room. Mary stayed for a moment longer, her eyes roving over the room itself and its sculpted woodwork. Finally she went to the open door and stepped out into the corridor, slowly finding her way to the Hall. She found it interesting how one moved in certain clothes; wearing the dress, her steps became smaller and more graceful, and she stood straighter.

Legolas turned from the conversation as soft footsteps approached and entered the hall, hesitating at the door. There stood Mary, in a long black dress with a matching embroidered belt, her hair braided at the sides and pulled back. He stared, watching her look about the room, her dark eyes large with uncertainty and her fair skin flushed from the warmth of the Hall. Forgetting for a moment about his companions Legolas stepped towards her, offering a small smile when she turned and noticed him.

"Veduí, Héri Mary." He said, tipping his head. _Greetings, Lady Mary._

"Veduí, Haryon Legolas." _Greetings, Prince Legolas._

"Manen nalyë?" _How are you?_

"Im maer." _I'm well._ Mary tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear, glancing to one side. "How long until the funeral?"

"I do not know." Legolas offered his hand. Mary glanced at him, then laid her hand on his. As they walked to their companions he noticed how small her hand was compared to his.

* * *

Late that night, after the funeral, Legolas wandered the halls. Sleep would not come to him, his thoughts ever moving and winding through dark paths and into deep places that were darker still. He found himself outside, and he stood there a while, staring out across the blue plains, his hair blowing softly around him and against his cheeks. He could feel an evil approaching, black on his mind yet too far for him to see clearly. In a low voice, he began to sing:

"The year has changed his mantle cold

Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;

And he goes clad in cloth of gold,

Of laughing suns and season fair;

No bird or beast of wood or wold

But doth with cry or song declare

The year lays down his mantle cold.

All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled,

The pleasant summer livery wear,

With silver studs on broidered vair;

The world puts off its raiment old,

The year lays down his mantle cold."

Soft steps reached his ears, pausing a moment behind him, then continuing to stop beside him. Mary shivered, pulling her cloak tight about her. She was dressed now in grey leggings, a white under-dress that split lengthwise in four places and a grey surcoat laced together along her sides. Legolas had to smile at that; her style of riding like a man had not gone unnoticed by the lady Éowyn, who had then, it seemed, provided Mary's clothing accordingly.

"N-le mae, Legolas?" she asked softly. _Be you well, Legolas?_

"É." He replied. _Indeed._

There was quiet. "Baw." She said. "Ú-le." _No. You (are) not._

He glanced at her. "An mana thel-ceri-le maquen nin?" _For what purpose (then) do you ask me?_

"Im maquen, an-esse her-lí pen na treneri-nin."_ I ask, for in your own words to tell me_.

For a moment Legolas was silent. "Manen ist-im prest-n-esse nin elu?" _How know you trouble be in my heart?_

"Im tur-óre han. Ha na ve ur nor uin naur." _I can feel it. It is like heat roll(ing) from the fire._

Legolas sighed, gazing out across the darkened plains. "Le cen-nin mae." _You read me (too) well._

For a moment, neither said anything. "There is a darkness stirring." Legolas finally said, his voice quiet. "A great darkness. I fear it shall ride across this land and devour Rohan like a wild beast."

Mary stared into the darkness, her hair black in the moonlight and blowing against her cheek, her eyes blacker still. She seemed to search for words. "As long as there are men to fight," she said, "The beast shall know only hunger."

Legolas looked at her, and her eyes lifted, and she smiled. Then she turned and left him. A moment later there was a sound to his right, and Aragorn stepped from the shadows. He stood beside Legolas without a sound, closing his eyes to better feel the breeze on his face.

"Some say she is a prophetess."

Legolas looked at him from the corner of his eye. "What do you think?"

Aragorn opened his grey eyes and looked out at the vast landscape. "I believe they speak truth." He admitted quietly. "For what else is a prophet, but one who knows what is to happen?"

"Perhaps." Legolas turned back to the expanse of night.

"She spoke as one."

Legolas did not answer, knowing Aragorn expected none.

The ranger turned to him. "It is late, mellon nin." He said. "Rest." Then he turned, and quietly left.

* * *

The arrival of the two children from the destroyed village was a shock to all at Edoras, yet it only served to confirm the fears of Gandalf and the three companions. Théoden commanded that his people retreat to the safety of Helms Deep, an action that disturbed Gandalf greatly, as they would be trapped there. So the wizard left, to search for Éomer and his company.

As they traveled, Aragorn and Gimli walked with Éowyn, leaving Legolas to walk alone. Yet by and by he became aware of soft steps joining his, and he smiled. "Veduí, Héri Mary." He said. _Greetings, Lady Mary._

"Veduí, Haryon Legolas." _Greetings, Prince Legolas._

"Manen nalyë?" _How are you?_

"Im maer." _I'm well._

They walked for a moment then, in companionable silence. Then Mary took a deep breath. "What are some of the customs of your people?"

Legolas glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you knew."

She shook her head. "Tolkien wrote down your history and your language, but nothing about your customs or culture." The corner of her mouth lifted in a teasing smile. "You are still a mystery to me, though perhaps not as much as to others."

A soft laugh, clear as a bell, surrounded her. "What would you like to know?"

She paused and thought for a moment, her face becoming grave. "How do you bury your dead?" she finally asked.

A sharp glance turned to her. Then he faced forward again. "Why do you wish to know that?"

Her hands fisted in the front of her surcoat, lifting it to make her steps easier. "We are going to battle, and in a war. Death is on my mind."

Legolas pressed his lips in a thin line, yet his eyes softened. "When an elf dies," he said, his voice low and quiet so that others would not hear. "Their body is washed clean, and they are laid on a tall pyre. Then all through the night, from sunset to sunrise, we stand vigil, keeping watch with song and music to honor them. When the sun rises, the pyre is burned."

Mary nodded, her eyes on the ground. "Are there any prayers you say over them?"

Legolas glanced at her, curious as to her pointed questions. "There is one, said over them after they are washed, and again when they are laid on the pyre."

"What is it?"

"Lothron in Valar galad cin mé minna e annún. Lothron le túv sídh-esse Valinor." _May the Valar light your way into the West. May you find peace in Valinor._

Mary whispered the phrase to herself, several times, as though memorizing it. Legolas looked at her sharply. "What do you know?"

Mary looked up, her eyes wide. "What?"

"You speak as someone who is preparing for death." His eyes were intense as they held her. "Tell me true," he rounded in front of her, stopping. The long line of people moved on past them. "Do I fall?"

Mary stared at him. Slowly she shook her head. "It is not you that falls." she whispered.

"Then who?"

She shook her head, moving around and walking on.

"Mary!"

"I cannot say!" she declared, refusing to look at him as he fell in step beside her. "It may not even happen– I don't know."

"I thought you knew everything that is to happen?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowing with his intensity.

"There was another version of the story, with a few details changed– I can't be sure which one is true, which one will happen." The distress was high in her voice, though she hid it well.

Legolas suddenly relaxed. "Forgive me, mellon nin." He said quietly.

She looked up at the term of endearment. _My friend._

"I did not mean to cause you distress."

She smiled. "I know." She said. "And I did not mean to cause you alarm."

Legolas returned her smile. "I know."

Once more they fell into companionable silence, walking steadily along the grass. "Legolas," Mary said.

He looked at her.

"What about elven birthday parties?"

Aragorn glanced back at the sound of elven laughter, and saw Legolas and Mary walking together and talking. The elven prince seemed to be answering questions, laughing sometimes at something she would say or ask. Aragorn smiled; it was good to see his friend in good spirits.

"So what of your home?" Legolas asked. "What waits for you when you return?"

"Nothing."

Legolas glanced at her in surprise.

Mary refused to look at him, her gaze locked firmly forward. "I grew up an orphan. I had few friends– not many could understand why I immersed myself into Tolkien's writings, or learned a language that no one else spoke."

"Why did you?" his voice was soft, watching the movement of their feet walking in sync.

"It felt like I was reading history, like it was real."

The elf's mouth curved in a small, amused smile. "É." _Indeed._

Suddenly he tensed, his eyes flickering to the front and the rocks beyond.

Mary looked at him. "What is it?"

Legolas didn't answer. "Stay here!" he ordered, his voice a hiss. Then he was running, passing the line quickly and disappearing over a rocky rise.

For a minute there was silence. Then there were horrible screams and roars, and Aragorn running to the front. A moment later he came back, and she heard Théoden call to him: "What is it? What do you see?"

"Wargs!" Aragorn shouted. "We are under attack!"

Around her people began to panic, children beginning to cry as some women screamed. As she tried to calm those around her, Mary heard Aragorn shout something else, and then Théoden calling his riders to the front. She saw him speak with Éowyn, and then the line was moving, people jogging and running, led by the Lady of Rohan. "Make for the lower ground!" Éowyn yelled. "Stay together!"

As they left, behind them they heard the terrible roars and shrieks of the wargs and orcs, and the battle cries of the men.

It seemed an eternity before they arrived at Helms Deep. As they entered the gates there were cries and shouts as families were reunited. Mary smiled as the two children– the ones who had come from the destroyed village– found their mother and ran to her, crying. A moment later there was a call from without.

"Make way for the king!"

Mary ran forward as the rider continued to announce Théoden's return, leading the company of weary men. Éowyn rushed forward, holding up her skirts, to greet her uncle, and they spoke quietly.

Watching the train of men enter the gates, Mary quickly spotted Legolas and Gimli riding in on Arod. The dwarf dismounted awkwardly, then slowly made his way to Éowyn's side. Legolas remained on his horse a moment longer, staring at something in his hand, his face held in a carefully neutral expression. Then he seemed to jar himself from his thoughts, and he dismounted lightly, handing the reins to a young boy who offered to take them– a stable boy. Legolas nodded at the boy, then turned, and glanced at Gimli and Éowyn. The lady had a shocked expression on her face, which was quickly changing to one of grief. The corners of his eyes tightening, Legolas strode through the crowd, entering the Keep and disappearing through a dark doorway.

Finding an abandoned turret was easy enough. Standing high above everything else, the high wind blowing his hair back from his face, Legolas felt his anger and grief start to rise. Yet as it did so there was the soft clearing of a throat behind him, and he turned. Mary stood in the doorway, watching him.

"I'm glad you're alright."

Legolas nodded, smiling. "It will take more than a warg to fell me." he said. Hidden in his hand the Evenstar bit his palm, clutched within tight fingers.

Mary returned the smile, then stepped out into the open, looking out across the plains. "What troubles you?"

Legolas followed her gaze, his expression closing off. "What makes you think I am troubled?"

From the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him for a moment, her expression patiently disbelieving. "You hold something in your hand." she said. "What is it?"

Legolas caught up the chain hanging between his fingers, tucking it in with the pendant.

Mary sighed. "I know you don't want to talk about it. You don't have to. But it would be easier if you did."

Legolas rested his fists against the short stone wall, leaning against it with all of his weight. He did not want to tell her. He wanted to be left alone, in peace! Yet she did not leave. Nor did she speak again.

How long they stood there Legolas did not know. Finally the silence and the grief in his heart became too great. "Aragorn has fallen."

Mary looked at him then.

"Pulled over a cliff by a warg." Anger laced his tight voice.

To his surprise, Mary bit her lip to suppress a smile, and turned back to gaze away. He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"You laugh at his death?"

Mary shook her head, her eyes dancing. "I laugh at his luck."

Legolas stared at her, then slowly the anger was replaced with realization and shock. "He survived."

"He what?!"

They turned at the roar. Gimli stood in the doorway, his black eyes wild like a crazy man, ax held as though ready to do battle.

Before Mary could answer there were cries from the people below, and shouts of amazement.

"He's alive!"

Gimli and Legolas looked at Mary, who gestured with her hands. "Go! Go!"

With another roar– this time of delight– the dwarf turned and disappeared down the stairs. Legolas paused to grace Mary with a small smile, one that barely changed his face yet lit up his eyes. Then he, too, was gone.

Mary smiled to herself, hearing the yell of the dwarf below.

"Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way. I'm gonna kill him!!"

* * *

Legolas stalked through the halls, moving up through the keep to an abandoned turret. There he leaned his hands atop the cold stone wall and gazed out across the plains, and in his mind's eye he could see the black swarm of Saruman's army spreading across the green fields. He knew that Aragorn was right to encourage the men as he did, to fight and make the orcs pay a dear price for their victory, but the thought of the coming death and defeat was almost too much to bear. The women and children, huddled together within the caves, came to mind, and Legolas growled. When the men fell, who would protect them from the cruelty of the orcs? Helplessness and despair weighed on the prince like a heavy cloud.

Footsteps sounded on the steps behind him. They were soft, but the person was not trying to hide them– in fact, they meant to be heard, to let him know they were approaching. A familiar scent reached his nostrils. "Veduí, Mary." he said, not turning. _Greetings, Mary._

"Veduí, Legolas." _Greetings, Legolas._

The prince waited. He knew she would ask how he fared; she was somehow able to read him, able to tell when he was troubled or sad. So he waited. There was movement beside him, and Mary rested with folded arms against the stone wall with a sigh, her eyes surveying the land before them. A soft breeze picked up, this high above the Keep, and her dark hair blew gently across her face.

Legolas waited.

Mary said nothing.

Left in the silence, his thoughts began to stray back to their original path, and he stared without blinking out across the vast landscape, his mood darkening. Left to their own devices, his thoughts strayed to dark places full of doom and despair. After a while Legolas frowned. Though he had dreaded her asking questions he did not want to answer, he now found her silence worse, and he began to resent her not asking the questions.

A low sound started, very faint, its tone rising and falling. Mary was humming. Legolas' frown deepened, glancing at her, his resentment growing as she continued to ignore him, humming while she did so.

A few moments later she stopped, and stared quietly, her eyes unfocused. "Ni cen-vinya taurë." _I see young woods._ Her voice, though faintly spoken, was loud after the silence.

Legolas did not look at her, but the back of his neck suddenly tingled.

"I lai olassie sil-mi anar, ar lilt mi hwesta. I vilya na-quanta as telerin lalaith ar lira, ar lí óma na-óre ro i sére." _The green leaves shine in the sun, and dance in the breeze. The air is full with elvin laughter and song, and your voice is rising above the rest._

All dark thoughts and resentment fled. Legolas looked at her, listening intently.

"Lí limbe otorno rinde le, ar ninque nimloth lotse-esse nif-eva sarna rondasse." _Your many brothers(sworn) circle you, and (a) white tree flower(s) in front of (a) stone castle._

Mary looked at him. Her brown eyes were warm, and she smiled. "There's always hope, Legolas Greenleaf."

Later, after Legolas had gone to Aragorn and made amends, and the elves from Lorien had arrived, he thought back to her words, and smiled. Yes, there was always hope.

* * *

Mary paused, looking around at the caves that were quickly filling with the wounded. Cries and groans surrounded her, women rushing around trying to tend to the many injuries. A young boy was carried in, crying for his mother, an arrow protruding from the side of his lower stomach. Laid on a makeshift bed some women surrounded him, joined by the boy's mother. Suddenly one of the women grabbed the arrow while the others held him down, and Mary caught the words "push it through."

"Wait!" Mary ran to them and caught the woman's hand, stopping her. "What are you doing? You'll kill him!"

The woman, her hair starting to grey, looked at her as though she was crazy. "He will die if it is not removed."

"It needs to be removed, yes," Mary insisted. "But if you push it through you will kill him for sure."

"The arrow is caught; it cannot be pulled."

"You will pierce through his vital organs if you remove it this way." Mary looked around desperately, trying to ignore the child's pained cries. "Where is a surgeon?"

"There are no men left!" the mother looked at her with a tear-stained face. "They have all gone to the battle!"

Staring at the faces around her, realization widened Mary's eyes, and her stomach knotted and twisted within her. Swallowing, she nodded, her mind racing. "Fine. I will be your surgeon. Okay, you!" she pointed at two of the women. "Boil as many pots of water as you can! Leave one empty of anything but the water. In another boil rags and bandages. In yet another boil the surgical instruments; knives, needles, all of that. You," she turned to another woman. "Is there wheat bread here?"

The woman's brows drew together. "My lady?"

"Is there any wheat bread here? Yes or no?"

"Yes, my lady, but…"

"Find any that has mold and bring it to me. No rye bread with mold, wheat bread only! Understand?"

"Yes, my lady, but…"

"Go!" Turning to another woman, Mary pinned her with a stare. "Do you have any alcohol here?" she asked. "Any hard drink?"

The woman nodded.

"Bring it. All of it." After she had sent the last woman– the one with the greying hair– to fetch the herbs and medicines they had, she sat beside the boy and laid a hand on the mother's arm. "He will be fine." Mary said, offering an encouraging but shaky smile. "I will do my best for him. I promise."

Leaving the mother for a moment to watch him Mary found a bloodied and torn shirt that had been discarded, tossed in a pile to be thrown away. On this she drew, with a burned piece of stick, a human torso– front and back. Within this she drew, with some difficulty as she tried to remember, all the organs, and named them. When she felt she had done it accurately she returned to find everything as she had ordered, with the bread and the newly boiled knives waiting for her. Washing her hands she lifted the boy's shirt. He blinked at her, his eyes glazed from the drink they had given him. Mary smiled. "You are brave." she said. "Be brave but a little longer, and I will be as quick as I can."

He nodded.

Washing the blood from his stomach, Mary felt around the wound, and found that she could feel a point of the arrow under the skin where it had caught. Taking a scalpel she carefully cut from the arrow shaft out, on either side, ignoring the small cries of the boy and the tears that ran down his cheeks. Then, her incisions made, she took up a pair of forceps and ever so carefully inserted it into the wound, grasping at the arrowhead. Moving slowly, she began to lift it out, careful not to let it catch on anything or tear any tissue. At first it did not want to move, but then it began to slide out, with great resistance, until suddenly it came free.

As blood began to well up in the wound Mary quickly washed it clean with hot water and with alcohol, then she carefully took some of the mold the woman had scraped from the wheat bread and packed it in, before sewing the wound closed.

"What good will mold do that makes us ill when we eat it?" the mother demanded.

"Where I come from, we make a medicine called penicillin." Mary said, carefully wrapping a clean, boiled bandage over the wound. "It is made from this mold." she looked up, her eyes reassuring. "It will protect him from infection– I mean, corruption."

Confusion, then understanding lit the mother's eyes.

"What if it is poison?" Another woman demanded. "What if he dies because of her witchcraft?"

"My son would have died anyway if she did not help." The mother hissed, rising to her feet. "Leave her be!"

Chagrined, the woman stepped back.

The hours passed. As the newly appointed surgeon Mary was kept rushing from man to man, cutting and sewing and cauterizing and bandaging. She was amazed, time and time again, that– little as she knew about medicine– compared to their medieval knowledge, her little bit seemed like brilliance and great skill.

The night passed. Mary felt ill many times, yet she held herself steady, numbing herself to what she saw. She packed the worst wounds with the bread mold, sending the water in the pots to be thrown out and filled with clean water, trying to keep things as sanitary as possible. Still she ended up splattered all over with blood, her arms stained up to her elbows, her face smeared. At one point a man was brought in whose belly had been cut open from one side to the other. The others marked him as a hopeless case, his guts starting to spill out. Yet his woman started to sob, and clutched at Mary's arm, begging her to do something for him. So Mary had him laid on a table, and had more fresh water brought and heated. She washed her hands over and over again, until they were free of grime. "Give him drink." she said, her mouth thin and grim. "Until he is past the point of remembering this night."

Finally, with everything set, she took the clean, hot water, and– with women holding him so he could not move– she cleaned and cleaned and cleaned his wound and his insides until all was washed of dirt and grime. Then she carefully pushed everything back inside, silently breathing a prayer of thanks that it was only the muscle wall that had been cut. Taking the catgut someone had found for her, she slowly and painstakingly began to sew the muscle back together from within, working her way out to finally pull together the skin, after she had packed more bread mold into the wound.

When all was said and done she wrapped him in clean bandages, and charged one of the women to stay with his wife and watch him. "Keep him quiet," Mary said. "Give him a few mouthfuls of water every hour or so, and watch him for fever and his wound for corruption. If you see any sign of either one, come and find me."

They nodded, and the wife looked at her with tear-filled eyes. "Thank you." she whispered.

Mary nodded, offering a weak and weary smile.

When she was away from them she glanced around, noting with some relief that no more wounded had been brought in.

The grey-haired woman she had met earlier– Mildryth– came to her side, then. "They are starting to bring in the dead." she whispered. "Men and elves alike."

Mary looked at her sharply. "Where are they putting them?"

"In one of the western rooms, to be washed."

Mary took her arm, and nodded her thanks. "I will return." she said. "Watch these men while I'm gone."

Mildryth nodded.

Finding the room, Mary pulled to an abrupt stop, pressing the back of her hand to her nose, forgetting that she was smearing her face once again. The smell was horrendous, and seemed almost to seep into your very flesh. Mary looked around, spotting the old man who seemed to be directing things. "Excuse me!" she ran to him and touched his arm. "Sir!" he turned and looked at her, his worn and wrinkled face weary beneath his beard. "Have any elves been brought in yet?"

He shook his head. "None."

"What is your name?"

"Oeric."

"I am Mary. I need…"

His eyes lit with recognition. "The prophetess? Who arrived with Gandalf and his company?"

Mary nodded.

He turned to her eagerly. "What can I do for you, My Lady?"

"I need the elves to be brought to a separate room." Mary said in a low voice. "Is there one available?"

He nodded. "This way."

Going out a door across from the one she had entered he led her down a short hall and into a room empty of all but a few low tables. "Will this be satisfactory?" Oeric asked.

Mary nodded. "Are there any who could help prepare the bodies?"

Oeric shook his head. "Naught but the very old, but they cannot do much…"

"That is fine." Mary assured. "Can you have them sent to me here?"

He nodded. "I will do so right away, My Lady."

"Thank you."

After he left Mary went and found some tubs, which she had some of the very young children fill with water and carry into the room, setting them by each table. Then they scattered, sent to look for any rags that were not in use. Within ten minutes all had returned, holding up their quarry triumphantly. Mary smiled at their upturned faces, their eyes very large amidst the dirt, and she thanked them all.

As the children returned to their mothers, people began to arrive carrying the first of the dead elves. Twelve. Mary's chest constricted, then she swallowed, and had them laid on the tables. All but two; these were laid by the wall, to wait their turn. Then the old began to arrive. There were not many, only eight, three men and five women. All walked stiffly, some with limps, their white hair thin upon their heads and their faces lined with many years of hard work and care. Yet their eyes were bright, glad of the chance to help.

"Thank you so much for coming." Mary said in relief, and they smiled at her.

"What would you like us to do?" One of the old women asked.

Mary walked to a table, and gently set her hand on the arm of the elf laying there. "These are but the first of many," she said, looking up, her voice choked. "The first of two hundred. They must all be completely washed of any blood or dirt." Turning to the elf she swallowed yet again, feeling her eyes grow hot. She clenched her jaw, and gently removed his helmet, letting his golden hair spill across the table. Then she removed his armor, one piece at a time, and set them aside. Picking up a rag she soaked it in the tub of water at her feet, and proceeded to wash his skin until it was as pure as marble. She then washed the armor, and put it back on him, and then she washed his sword and set it in his hands. The old men and women gathered around, then, and lifted him all together and carried him to the wall, where they laid him– very gently– on the floor. They then picked up one of the two elves waiting, and laid him on the table. Mary nodded. "Do this for each elf that comes in here." she said quietly.

Some of the old women, taking their place at a table, looked down at the elf laying there and began to cry, touching the golden hair and the pointed ears.

Mary swallowed back a hard lump in her throat. "When you have finished with all two hundred," she said. "Please come and get me. I will be with the wounded." She turned to leave, but then another thought came to her. "The Mirkwood prince, Legolas, will come by sometime after the battle is over, and he will look for his kin."

They all nodded.

Mary looked at them, her eyes misting. "Thank you." she said again. Then she left.

When she arrived in the makeshift infirmary she found Théoden in the process of sitting down upon a cot, helped by Éowyn. The lady of Rohan looked drawn, as she had been running all over the Keep, helping wherever she was needed.

"Ah," Théoden said. "Lady Mary. How do you fare?"

"I am well, my lord." Mary said, crossing her fingers behind her back.

"It seems he rode out to battle with a spear wound uncared for." Éowyn said, giving her uncle a reproachful, yet worried look.

"I am fine," Théoden said, waving his hand. Then he winced, grabbing his shoulder. "I have had worse."

Éowyn looked up at Mary. "It has been so long– I fear for corruption."

Mary approached and bent low, checking the king's shoulder. "It is a clean wound," she said, almost seeming to talk to herself. She stood. "If it is cleaned and bound right away you should be fine."

Théoden laid down upon the cot, breathing a heavy sigh. "It is well, then."

The wound was, indeed, a clean wound– no ragged or torn edges, for which Mary was glad. As the surgeon, she washed it, anointed it with alcohol, and then used the last of the mold. Then she sewed it and carefully bound it with bandages made from a shirt that had been boiled and cut into strips, as they had run out of regular bandages. When she had finished she made a sling for his arm, so that he would not jar the wound, and he thanked her– though he did question the merits of the mold, which Mary patiently explained. Then he left with Éowyn to his own quarters.

Mildryth approached her. "Forgive me, Lady Mary."

She turned. "Yes?"

"Some of the injured have died." Mildryth frowned in sympathy as Mary's face went white. "The man who had been stabbed in the chest– you were right, his lungs had been punctured. And two children."

Mary felt the room spinning around her.

"There is another young man, one who has no family. I believe that he, too, is dying. He calls for you."

Mildryth led her to the side of the young man, the stump of his leg still weeping blood. "He had already lost so much blood when they brought him…" Mary whispered.

Mildryth nodded. "Go to him."

Kneeling beside the mat, Mary laid a hand on his forehead, which was burning, despite his waxen complexion. At her touch his eyes opened, and he looked up at her. "Lady Mary…" he rasped.

She smiled, searching for his name out of the many she had learned. "Wulfric. I am here."

He smiled weakly. "You remembered my name– out of everyone here–" He coughed, pulling in a dry, hard breath. "Forgive me."

"For what?"

"I know that others need you more than I. But I just– I did not wish to be alone–"

"Hush, Wulfric." Mary stroked his hair back from his face. "My place is where I am needed most, and right now, that is with you."

He smiled again. Lifting his arm he reached for her hand, and she gave it to him, and he held it tightly. "Westu, Mary, hál." _Be thou, Mary, well._

Mary nodded, smiling gently. "Westu, Wulfric, hál."

Wulfric smiled widely, then he looked to the ceiling, gasping for breath, his grip on her hand tightening. Then he relaxed, and his eyes stared into nothing.

Mary swallowed, and swallowed again, blinking hard and fast. With a trembling hand she reached out and laid it over his face, her fingers running gently down over his skin, closing his eyes. "Westu, Wulfric, hál." she whispered, her voice catching.

Looking up, she found Mildryth standing with two teenage boys beside her, waiting. The older woman's eyes were bright, gazing at her in sympathy.

Mary stood, releasing his hand, and she nodded at them. As the boys bent to take up their load, Mary turned and fled.

* * *

The halls were filled with the groans and cries of the wounded, and the voices of the women calling out to one another as they rushed around tending to the injured. Legolas made his way through the chaos, to check on King Théoden. He found the king, not with the other wounded, but back in his own chambers, siting in his chair with his shoulder bound tightly and his arm held in a sling.

"Master elf." Théoden greeted him, his eyes weary, yet strangely rested.

Legolas bowed. "King Théoden. How do you fare?"

"Very well." A bemused expression filled the king's face. "My wound was tended to by your companion, Mary. She sewed it, bound it– after washing my wound with heavy drink and packing it with bread mold."

Legolas tipped his head, his dark, blue eyes questioning.

"She said it would protect the wound from corruption." Théoden said, and he raised his eyebrows. "We shall see. Although," he continued as an after thought. "I do feel better after her care than I ever have with any other wound."

"I am glad to hear it." Legolas said sincerely.

Théoden nodded. "And how do you fare?"

Legolas' face held its carefully neutral mask. "I am well."

"And the others?"

If one were not closely watching the elf's face, one would have missed the momentary falter– the slight glimmer of sorrow that appeared in his eye, before his mask slid into place once more. "None have survived, my lord, save myself."

Lines of care and experience drew themselves on the king's face. "I am sorry." He said quietly. "The battle could not have been won without the aid of the elves." He added, after a moment's pause.

Legolas tipped his head.

"What now will you do?"

A hint of a weary, careworn smile touched the elf's lips. "I will go and help bury the dead."

Théoden nodded. "And then?"

"My pledge was to the Fellowship, or what now remains of it." Legolas said. "That pledge still holds true."

He left Théoden's chambers then. Following the halls he took a back passage, to escape the flurry of activity and chaos that pervaded everywhere else. Here there was quiet, and emptiness. As he made his way down a sound reached his ears. At first he could not tell what it was. Then, as it became clear, his jaw tightened with sympathy. Someone, somewhere down the hall, was retching, thought it was apparent they had nothing left to be rid of. As he drew closer it stopped, and for a moment there was silence. Then a deep, keening sob filled the air, and grew in intensity and volume. A door suddenly came up on his left, and it was open. Pausing, Legolas peered in, remaining in the shadows to keep his presence hidden. What he saw made his gut clench within him.

Kneeling on the floor, far in the corner before a small window, was Mary. Her dark tresses hung about her face, and her hands – pressed tense and desperate against the floor – were red with blood up to her elbows, some old and dried and beginning to crack. Her shoulders rose and fell with her sobbing, heavy and harsh.

Legolas could only watch as she wept, her voice rising every once in a while in a wail grief and anger, raging against something unseen with indiscernible words. At one point she laid her head against the floor, and her hands held her head, pressed to her hair. Her fingers worked their way into her hair until it was tightly fisted, pulling against her scalp.

After a few minutes her sobbing subsided to heavy breaths, and she sat up and lifted her face. Her eyes opened, and her teeth bared as she pulled herself back together. She muttered to herself. Then she set her hands to the floor and pushed herself up to her feet, pausing a moment to run her hands on her cheeks and smear the tear tracks away.

Her steady steps brought her out the door and into the hall, heading in towards the center of Helms Deep – the center of the chaos. Legolas stepped from the shadows, his eyes drawn. He had wished to go to her, to comfort her, but she had sought solitude – he could not intrude upon it. Yet he vowed that, when it was all over, he would seek her out, and offer what little comfort he could.

* * *

Weary both in body and in mind, Legolas stepped through the dark halls of Helms Deep, rock and stone echoing with the cries of the grieving and the cries of the wounded. The last of the dead had been gathered, and their bodies burned on a pyre that still smoldered. He had wished to tend to his own kin, but until now had helped the people of Rohan with theirs. The deed done, Aragorn had touched his shoulder and looked at him with his piercing grey eyes, impossibly ageless and wise despite his mortality. His look spoke all that his voice could not, and Legolas had grasped his shoulder in turn, his eyes speaking what his heart could not convey.

He had left then, knowing that the ranger and his dwarven friend would follow when they were able. They would come to aid him in his task, one that must now be hurried. One that would now have to be left incomplete. He did not relish it, but he continued to stride forward with a grim face and determined step. Many people looked to him as he passed, their eyes wide with wonder at the sight of one of the First Born. Legolas remained a mystery to them, a being from tales and myths come to walk among them, shrouded in a distant nobility and magic that whispered in their hearts like a passing breeze.

Of the two hundred elves that had fought, only Legolas remained. Even Haldir, the marchwarden of Lothlorien, had perished. A sense of emptiness and numbness filled him, isolated now from all of his kin and cut off from those who knew and understood him as Legolas, not as the Elven Prince. Now he was faced with burying his own dead, and he could not even observe the customs of his people as they deserved.

As he approached the room where the dead had been brought to be kept and washed before their burning, he slowed, his eyes narrowing. The room was empty of all, save for some women who were bent to the ground, washing away the blood and the grime. They looked up as he entered, their eyes betraying their surprise and slight fear. Except for one. Her eyes fell on him, and reflected only sympathy. It was her Legolas approached, bowing in respect. "My lady," he said, his voice low. "Where have they brought my kin?"

Straightening, the old woman rubbed her hands on her rag, her eyes dull with weariness. "She said to expect you." She answered.

Legolas frowned. "Who?"

Tipping her head, the woman motioned for him to follow. "Come."

As they walked, the woman spoke gently to him. "She had them brought to a separate room, where she had some of our old wash them, after she showed them the right way. All had to be clean– their skin, their armor, and their blades. When it was done she went to each, and spoke in strange words– your language, I believe– the same words to each one, all two hundred. A prayer, I think. Then she had them brought to the Eastern courtyard, and laid them all together upon a pyre. She wrapped them in their cloaks and folded their hands, saying the same words again to each." They had crossed into an unfamiliar, abandoned hall. A breeze began to caress their faces. "That was last eve, before the sun went down." They came out of the hall to a balcony, with great stone steps leading down the one side into the courtyard below. A strange sound– one that Legolas had been hearing faintly in the halls– now filled the air clearly and forcefully, as pure as a ringing bell and as rhythmic as the beating of drums. It was like to the tapping of a bird's beak upon stone, yet it was stronger and heavier and echoed throughout the walls of the courtyard up into the mountains and the sky beyond. For a moment Legolas paused, closing his eyes, losing himself. The taps rose and fell, some like soft rain and others like hard thunder, some slow like a gentle breeze and some fast like the darting of arrows. Opening his eyes Legolas saw the small crowd that had gathered upon the balcony, their stance timid, unsure that they should be there, feeling somehow that they were intruding upon something sacred. Yet they stayed all the same, transfixed by the source of the sounds below in the courtyard.

The woman who had led him had moved forward, the people making room for her at the wall of the balcony, and she looked down, her eyes shadowed by some emotion of sadness and admiration. Legolas followed, looking over the wall to the courtyard below. There he saw the pyre, and his kin lay upon it, two rows of twenty, laid five warriors deep. Before it, dressed in her leggings and grey riding tunic– which was stained all over with blood– was Mary. She was dancing, her feet moving in rhythm with the beating taps– and then Legolas realized that she was creating the beating taps.

"She stood before them for a while at first, like she was unsure of what to do. Then she found pieces of metal, and somehow attached them to her feet." The woman said quietly, so that only Legolas heard. "I don't know what she said at first, because it was in your language, but then she said: 'I cannot sing, and I have no instrument to play music. But I can do this. I hope it's enough.' Then she waited, watching the sky, and when the sun disappeared she started this, and she hasn't stopped."

Legolas stared at the moving form below, wetting his throat tightly, his eyes misting. That she would do this… without rest, all night, keeping vigil with music as was the elven custom… Light began to tinge the sky pink, its rays peeking over the edge of the horizon. The tapping quickened, growing, her movement almost a blur. Then the sun rose over the top of the mountain with a thunderous clap of sound, and then all was still.

The figure below remained frozen for a moment. Then she sank to her knees, her hands touching the ground to catch her, and her head hung low, dark tresses hiding her face.

Legolas descended the steps and crossed the grey courtyard, his footfalls silent upon the stone, yet still she raised her head as he approached. Her eyes were framed with weary shadows. "I did not know your death-song–" she began, her skin pale with exhaustion.

Legolas knelt beside her and set his hand to her shoulder, and felt the trembling of her body.

"I hope it was enough."

"It was." Legolas whispered. His eyes were deep with heartfelt meaning. "It was more than enough."

Her eyes relaxed slightly in relief, and she nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. Then she gathered her strength and pushed herself to her feet. Legolas helped her, offering his support when she lost her balance and almost fell. At her nod he turned, and saw the torch in the wall beneath the balcony where the people waited, holding their breath. Stepping forward he retrieved it, a metallic rasping sound filling the silence as it pulled from its place. Then he turned to the pyre, and his eyes grew black, the blue in them nothing but a thin sliver of brilliant color. "Lothron in Valar galad cin mé minna e annún. Lothron le túv sídh-esse Valinor." he whispered. _May the Valar light your way into the West. May you find peace in Valinor._ Then he walked, slowly around the pyre, touching the oil-soaked wood here and there with the torch, all around till the whole pyre was ablaze, the flames reaching up into the sky. Standing once more beside Mary he watched, the firelight dancing in his eyes like a living thing.

There were soft footsteps behind them, followed by sure, heavy ones, and the scent of herbs and of earth carried to him on the breeze, his golden hair brushing against his cheek. Aragorn and Gimli stood behind them silently, watching. He did not know how long they had been there, on the balcony, before joining them. The fire cracked and popped, consuming all. It's light and heat washed over them, bathing the courtyard in a red, unearthly glow that danced across the stone.

There was a swaying beside him. Legolas turned to place a hand on Mary's shoulder and steady her. She glanced at him, her eyes dull with weariness. "You have done enough," Legolas said gently. "You should rest."

"Are you sure?"

She would stay with him, if he asked. He nodded. "Thank you." He whispered.

A slight smile touched her lips, and she nodded in return. Then she turned, and with slow steps began to make her way to the stairs. Despite having metal attached to her heels and toes her steps were amazingly quiet. At the steps she paused, leaning one hand against the wall, and she lifted each foot in turn and pulled the leather ties open, removing the metal from her feet. Then she mounted the steps, keeping one hand on the wall to keep herself steady. As she reached the balcony the older woman that had led Legolas met her and took her arm, gently leading her inside.

Turning, Legolas focused once more on the dancing flames, watching as his kinsmen were consumed. As the sun rose the fire burned lower and lower, until all that was left was a smoldering, glowing pile of coals and ash, and then there was nothing.

* * *


	3. Glaer a Hith: Song and Mist

**"Caran Amrún" (Red Sunrise)**

Chapter Three

_Glaer a Hith (Song and Mist)_

* * *

Legolas woke from his slumber, his vision coming out of the mists to see the rock ceiling above him, flickering with the red light of a torch. Ignoring the stiffness of his body as he sat, knowing it would leave him as he moved, Legolas looked around to see his companions scattered about the room. Gandalf lay on his back with hands folded, his cloak over his face so that all one could see was the slight waving of his beard as he breathed. Aragorn slept quietly to one side, Gimli snoring heavily in the silence. Yet Legolas frowned; it seemed one companion was missing.

He found her on the wall, sitting before an archer's window, her knees drawn up and her cloak held tightly closed against the wind. Her head rested against the stone, her face turned to look out the window, her hair blowing out behind her in strands that stuck together. In the bright morning light he could see the lines on her face, heavy between her brows where she had frowned for hours, and at her eyes when she had shut them against the horrors of battle.

He reached her side, and stood behind her with closed arms, staring out at the ever blue sky, and the forest thick and still in the valley before the gate. The wind carried air from the mountain sides, fresh and clean.

"From here it does not look so bad."

Legolas looked down at the top of her head.

"From this small window, if you look right, you can only see the plains, and the mountain peaks. It's beautiful there."

Legolas looked out to follow her gaze, to see the mountain with its damp, cool mist wrapping around it like a warm cloak, drifting soft and quiet, sparkling in the light. He smiled. "Yes it is."

"I've always loved the mountains. Climbing high, surrounded on all sides by rock and wild trees and the wind, as high and far in the middle of nowhere as you can get." Her voice broke on the last word, and her head lowered. "I'm so sorry." She whispered.

Legolas immediately stepped around and knelt before her, his brows drawn together. "For what, mellon nin?" he asked, reaching out and laying a hand on the dark head.

Mary looked up, her deeply brown eyes dull, almost the color of ash. "I didn't know if they'd come or not– if I could have done anything–"

Legolas' mouth opened with realization, and his eyes darkened with pain. "Nay!" he said gently, his hand running down the side of her head to hold it. "Baw, meld er. Le al e tyár-o hí!" _No, dear one. You (are) not the cause of this!_

Her mouth pressed together as tears welled up. "I'm sorry." She said brokenly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…!"

"Mary!" He leaned forward, catching her face with both hands, and he held it, his face tight with emotion, demanding that she hear his words and understand. "Baw úgerth na-cín! N-tyár-o le limb hí guín-man tanca gar-bel! A le glír nín gwanur na post, naíníe, ír turo-baw min." _No wrong doing is your(s)! Because of you many now live who (would) surely have died! And you lay my kinsman to rest, lamenting, when able (be) no one._

His thumbs brushed away her tears.

"Mín– im– tur-ú egleri le far." _We– I– cannot praise you enough._

Her eyes were large and dark, staring at him as he spoke. When he finally grew silent, his own eyes begging her to believe him, she swallowed softly. "Well then." She whispered, and seemed to gather herself together once more. "Selma le dab-nín na cerí-min nad tare?" _Will you allow me to do one thing more?_

Legolas gazed at her, waiting. "Mana?" _What?_

"Dab-nín na nathr-cín fasse?" _Allow me to weave your (tangled) hair?_

He smiled, a surprised laugh escaping him. "Aiquim lothron cerí-ve idhren." _If I may do like-wise._

A hesitant smile graced her features, then, and she looked down, her face sliding free of his hands. From a pouch at her belt she withdrew a small comb. Indicating that he turn around, Mary settled herself behind him, and carefully removed the ties from his braids. "Didn't you learn as a child not to sleep with your hair done?"

Legolas heard the humor in her voice, and knew she was teasing him. He smiled. "It seems I have forgotten."

There was a clucking sound behind him, his hair pulling ever so gently as she undid each braid, until his hair lay across his shoulders in a loose tangle. Starting at the bottom she began to comb. Legolas closed his eyes, savoring the feel, allowing himself to relax. She was careful, and gentle, working her way slowly up the golden lengths, never pulling. When his hair finally lay across his shoulders in smooth golden falls she laid the comb beside him on the stone, and she pulled some of his hair back and started to braid. Eventually, as she worked, she started to sing. Her voice was soft, and though it was not perfect it was pleasant. Not pure like some, but earthy, and comforting.

"Once there was a young boy

Of whom I shall tell

He was very fair with dark hair

I knew him very well

He kissed me O so softly

He kissed me on the cheek

And when he did then he said

I tasted nice and sweet

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey

Once there was a young boy

Who then became a man

With his eyes of green and lips of cream

He was strong and sure of hand

He worked hard in the fields

He worked hard in the earth

And he sang me songs and tarried long

Long beside my hearth

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey

Once there was a young boy

Who now is bent and old

Yet still I wake and every night I lay

Beside this man who's good as gold

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey

Come sail away

Young boy

Come and sail away

We will live in peace together

Until our hair is grey."

Legolas opened his eyes. "I do not know this song."

"No," Mary said quietly behind him. "No, you wouldn't."

Small fingers lifted a section of hair from behind his ear and began to braid. "A song of your world?" Legolas asked.

"I suppose." Mary worked quickly. "I wrote it."

Legolas' brows raised in surprise. "You did? I would have guessed it to be a folk song of your people."

"I wrote it that way." She sounded pleased. Her fingers found the hair behind his other ear, and began weaving. "I'm not a good singer. Never was. But I still like to sing."

"Your voice is good."

"No, it's not. Not like others. It's not pure or clean like theirs."

"Perhaps not," Legolas admitted. "But it is a good voice nonetheless. It reminds me lullabies, and my mother putting me to sleep." His voice grew quiet.

There was silence behind him. "There." Mary finally whispered. Her hands dropped his hair.

Legolas reached back to feel, and was surprised to find the smooth elven braids he always wore, expertly woven. He turned around.

Mary smiled. "Tolkien," she finally said in embarrassment. "Remember?"

He smiled. "Of course." Rising to his knees he beckoned her forward. "Now you."

As Mary sat before him, he picked up the comb from the stone, and gathered her hair and laid it all down her back. As he began to brush through the long tresses and the comb caught where they had stuck together with blood, his brows pulled together. Mildryth, the lady who had led him to the pyre of his kin, had spoken to him later when she had found him wandering the halls, and she had told him of some of what Mary had done. With great care, his touch very gentle, Legolas combed her hair clean and smooth, until it gleamed like dark satin, splayed across her back and shoulders. With nimble fingers he gathered some hair by one ear and started to braid it, doing the same on the other side, before combining the two braids into one on the back of her head. As he worked he noticed that her eyes had closed, and at first he thought she had fallen asleep. Then a small sigh, almost indiscernible, left her. Legolas smiled.

When he was done she stayed with her eyes closed, unwilling to stop savoring the moment. Finally, though, she looked at him, and she smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded, returning the smile.

They sat there for a while longer, speaking of everything and nothing as the sun continued its journey across the sky. As it reached its peak Legolas tipped his head, studying her face and the shadows of exhaustion that hung there, and his eyes were sympathetic. "Have you not slept?"

Mary ducked her head. "No." she admitted.

"You must."

"Every time I close my eyes–" her voice trailed off.

Legolas hesitated, then reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. Mary looked up. "Come." He said.

They were quiet as they walked the halls. As they passed the rooms of the wounded a woman, kneeling beside a bed, rose to her feet and hurried out to them. "My husband still lives," she said, clasping Mary's hand. "And he is able to eat and to drink, though it does pain him. Thank you! Thank you, my lady!"

Mary smiled in relief. "You're welcome."

Continuing on Legolas leaned close. "What did she mean?"

Mary stared straight ahead. "He had been cut open, and his insides were starting to come out. I was able to put everything back and sew him closed, but I wasn't sure if he would make it."

Legolas glanced back, seeing the woman once more beside the bed, and the man within it reaching up to touch her face, smiling.

Reaching the room in which the companions still slept, Legolas led her to her bed. "I can't close my eyes." Mary protested in a whisper as she laid down, curling onto her side with her cloak about her.

Legolas sat beside her at her head, and leaned against the wall. "Then I will sing to you, mellon nin." He said, and rested a hand on her shoulder. Then he sang, his strong voice low and quiet, yet clear as morning. He felt her fighting against sleep, afraid of the dreams that might await her, yet his words were sweet and soft, telling of springtime and flowers and flowing rivers, and nymphs in the forest and spring feasting and dancing. Slowly her eyes grew heavy, and then they closed, her breaths even. Legolas continued to sing for a while yet, his eyes unfocused as they stared ahead.

When the song was finished he broke from his reverie, and looked down at his sleeping companion, her hair spilling behind her in midnight brown waves, her fair skin flushed from the warmth of sleep and the heat of so many bodies in such a small room. Legolas made to stand, and started to pull his hand from her shoulder. Her forehead frowned, and she made a very small sound of complaint, one small hand going to grasp his, her hold tight. A small smile touched his mouth, and he settled back against the wall. Letting himself fall back into the mists of his own dreams he found them centered upon a springtime feast, with a dark haired and dark eyed maiden dancing amidst it all.

* * *


	4. Yomenie Raumo: Coming Storm

**"Caran Amrún" (Red Sunrise)**

Chapter Four

_Yomenie Raumo (Coming Storm)_

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when Legolas again awoke. He still sat against the wall, his hand held by Mary upon her shoulder. Of Gandalf there was no sign, yet Aragorn was sitting now where he had before slept, holding in his hand the Evenstar, which seemed even now to give off its own pure light. Yet when Legolas' eyes found him he looked up. 

"Bein n-lí lóre, Legolas?" _Fair be your sleep, Legolas?_ He asked, his voice low and quiet.

The elf nodded. "Elye?" _You also?_

The ranger nodded. "Ha na-lú." _It is time._ Rising gracefully to his feet he stepped to Gimli's side, and crouching, gently woke him. The dwarf grunted as he woke, automatically turning, ready to face an enemy, yet he just as quickly quieted when he saw it was Aragorn. Climbing to his feet a huge yawn opened his mouth wide, and he stretched. Then he made to follow Aragorn out of the room, glancing at the elf as he passed.

"How does she fare?" he whispered, pausing a moment.

A touch of a smile lit his blue eyes. "She has seen much, but her heart is strong."

Gimli nodded. Then his serious eyes turned to the fair face. "And what of you?"

For a moment Legolas did not answer. A shadow touched him, but it was not a shadow of darkness, only of quiet sorrow. "Much has been lost." He admitted. "And my heart grieves. Yet it only serves to urge me all the more to battle against this evil and cut off its hold on the land."

Gimli nodded. "Aye." He glanced down at the sleeping maiden, who's shoulder Legolas still held. Then he looked up. "I shall meet you without, then?"

Legolas nodded. Picking up his ax from where it rested against the wall, Gimli left.

He did not wish to move, sitting there in the silence, his hand upon the warm shoulder. Yet he knew he must. Slowly he rose from the bed to his feet, and then he knelt beside it, and reaching out gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Namárië, meld er." _Farewell, dear one._ He whispered.

She stirred, turning her face into his hand. Then her eyes opened and looked at him, still blurred with sleep. "Legolas."

"Ha na-lú. Im glenn-an hi. Mín nor-na Isengard." _It is time. I go for now. We ride to Isengard._

She blinked, sleep pulling at her. She whispered. "N-tir-pant-o i galadhad. Hain iste-le." _Be watchful of the trees. They know you._

Later Legolas sat upon the back of Arod, with Gimli behind, and they approached the trees. At first no one would enter the forest, looming dark and menacing before them, yet Gandalf continued on without hesitation. As the company of men followed they found, to their amazement, that there was already a path prepared for them– a great archway that led into the forest, the trees rising up on either side of the road like tall sentinels, watchful and silent. Legolas looked on either side, his eyes taking in everything around him. Mary's words came back to him, and he wondered that she could even know the thoughts of trees.

Riding close to Gandalf, as Gimli was afraid of the trees, Legolas continued to eye the forest. "It is hot in here." He said, his words directed to Gandalf. "I feel a great wrath about me. Do you not feel the air throb in your ears?"

"Yes."

"What has become of the miserable orcs?"

"That," Gandalf said. "I think, no one will ever know."

In silence they continued through the forest, and Legolas was sorry when Gandalf forbade him to return when he saw eyes within the trees. Then he and all the company saw ents, great ents walking out and sounding loud calls that carried far, and which were answered.

They found Saruman locked in his tower of Orthanc, with naught but Grima Wormtongue as a companion. All around the area was flooded, great waters washing away the filth and corruption. Gandalf spoke with the great ent Treebeard, and while he did Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were happily reunited with their little friends, Merry and Pippin, who had a grand tale to tell. So they passed the time, until at last Gandalf returned. Then all went to the tower, and stood outside, and spoke with Saruman. The wizard had lost all but the power of his voice, and he tried to sway those present to his own side. Yet it was in vain. As they made to leave something was thrown from the tower, a great dark orb, which Pippin retrieved and looked at curiously. Gandalf quickly took it from him, and wrapped it in his robes.

"I will take care of this." He said. "It is not a thing, I guess, that Saruman would have chosen to cast away."

Gimli stirred. "But he may have other things to cast. If that is the end of the debate, let us go out of stone's throw, at least!"

Gandalf nodded. "It is the end. Let us go."

So they took their leave of Treebeard and the ents, and they traveled on until the sun sank low and then disappeared altogether, and the night stretched on. At long last they stopped for rest, and made camp, and slept. Yet a terrible cry awoke them when their dreams had only just begun to rise from the mist and take form in their mind. It was Pippin. Gandalf was angry, for the hobbit had taken the orb and looked into it, and shown himself to Sauron– for the orb was one of the last remaining Seeing Stones, a Palantir.

When it became clear that Pippin had told Sauron nothing in his vision, Gandalf was much relieved, yet still anxious. For now the Dark Lord would believe that Saruman had caught the ring-bearer, and he would send his servants to Isengard with all haste. So Gandalf left on Shadowfax, with Pippin riding before him, to go to the white city of Minas Tirith.

"Farewell! Follow fast!" Gandalf called to them. "Away, Shadowfax!"

Now the rest of the company traveled back to Helms Deep. There they would rest for a night, and then away the next day, for Théoden to gather a great host of men that they might go with him to Minas Tirith.

As they rode Legolas kept his gaze firmly forward, yet unfocused, trusting Arod to follow Aragorn and the king. Gimli sat behind, and every once in a while would give a heavy sigh and shift. Finally the dwarf could be silent no longer. "Something troubles you, master elf, or I am a hobbit's mother."

Legolas did not turn. "You are mistaken, master dwarf. I am not troubled at all."

"Indeed! You are as tense and rigid as the Argonath. More, even. A dwarf I may be, and used to digging in the dirt, but I am not blind."

Legolas frowned, a nonexistent retort dying on his tongue. "A shadow darkens my heart." He admitted.

The dwarf twisted behind him. "What?! Is a nazgul on our tail?"

"No, Gimli, it is no enemy that clouds my mind so."

For a moment there was silence. "Ah!" Gimli's voice dropped, its tone suddenly understanding. "The fair lady Mary. Why does she trouble you?"

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but paused. "I fear for her." He said finally. "War and death the like of which we have not yet seen looms on the horizon, and the hand of Sauron reaches out to sweep us all into his grasp. What will become of her? Will she be caught by the darkness? Will she fade into the night? Will she stay with the people of Rohan?"

Gimli's voice was low. "It seems to me that her nature will cause her to go with us, even to the end."

"It is that thought that worries me the most."

Gimli eyed the elf curiously.

"She is competent with the sword, to be sure, but I fear her falling in battle, cut down by some crude sword of an orc! Or worse yet, to be torn to pieces by a troll or one of their beasts, a warg!"

Gimli made a rumbling sound of understanding. "I would not worry so." He finally said. "It would seem her path is blessed, to live when others die, to offer hope and comfort where others see only despair and ruin. Trust to hope, master elf. It has not abandoned us thus far."

Legolas remained silent, yet he clung to Gimli's words as to a lifeline. He thought back to the time spent with her, of her hands in his hair, of her imperfect yet gentle voice singing, and he hoped that he would see her again at the end of all things, and that this final ride to Helms Deep was not to bid a final farewell to the strange and fair lady.

"You are right, Gimli." He whispered. "Hope has not yet abandoned us. Let us pray that it graces us a while longer."

* * *

Mary stood before the gate, waiting nervously. She knew they would return in haste, and leave just as quickly the next day. She knew that, on the way back, Aragorn would have been met by thirty of his kinsman– the Dunedain– and that he would spend the whole night consulting with them. 

A moment later the horses thundered past, weary and grim men passing her in a river. Aragorn and Théoden rode at the head, with the Dunedain directly behind, and Legolas and Gimli following. The elf caught her eye as he passed on his white horse, and a small smile graced his tense features, and she smiled back. Yet she couldn't help but notice the tightness of his eyes, and the faint line between his brows.

Following the line of riders, she entered the Keep, and found Legolas and Gimli watching on as Aragorn and the Dunedain took their leave of Théoden and retired to a secluded tower room. As she approached, the elf and the dwarf turned.

"Lady Mary!" Gimli rumbled. He took her hand and kissed it gently, his beard tickling her skin. "I trust you are well?"

"I am much better than I was." Mary said, nodding.

She felt a hard gaze burning into her, and she looked up into the intense, blue eyes of the elf. Gimli glanced at the two of them, then cleared his throat. "I take my leave for the time being." He said. "I wish to rest, and possibly find some good ale to wet my throat."

After he had gone, Legolas and Mary stood, gazing at one another. "Are you well?" Mary finally asked.

Legolas inclined his head. "And you?" he asked.

Mary shook her head, shrugging. "Good, I guess."

Legolas eyed her, noting the shadow of her eyes and the lines of care still upon her face. "Are you sure?"

Her smile faltered, and she swallowed. "As well as can be expected."

He nodded. "It is so with me." One eye squinted at her. "You know what has happened?"

Mary nodded, her arms folding as a gust of cold wind blew in through the open door. "I do. Don't look so worried, Legolas." She chastised. A gleam entered her eye. "If you keep frowning, your face will freeze that way."

He blinked, his eyes widening, then he laughed, and shook his head. "Where did you learn this?"

"My mother." Mary said, raising her chin.

"I thought…" his voice trailed off.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Yes, but all mothers tell their kids that, so it stands to reason that mine would have told me."

"Have you seen it happen?"

"Oh yes." Mary nodded seriously. "Not so much in my world," she said, moving to walk with him, their feet stepping in sync. "But here I have seen it a lot."

"Indeed? Where?"

"Everywhere. You ever see these horribly ugly things? Their faces all twisted and their teeth rotting? They didn't listen to their mothers, and look where it got them!"

Legolas laughed, his clear voice echoing in the halls. "I had always wondered where the orcs came from."

"Well there, then! That's one mystery solved."

Later that night there was a good meal, and singing, and dancing, and storytelling. Théoden knew that it would possibly be the last chance for many men to celebrate, so he grabbed at the opportunity, and enjoyed many hours of conversation with Merry.

Legolas sat apart from the festivities against the wall, Gimli at his side holding a large mug of ale. The elf watched all with a quiet gaze. He found Mary soon enough, sitting alone at a table. She smiled and laughed when others spoke with her, but when she was left alone a darkness would enter her gaze, and a great sadness veiled her face, and Legolas felt a pain in his chest. She had seen much he wished he could have spared her, and he knew that the burden of knowing what would happen was not a light one.

Eventually Aragorn came down, his face drawn and weary. He made his way to Legolas' side and sat down, his grey eyes troubled.

"What news?"

Aragorn glanced at him. "Much." He said under his breath. "I would think on it a while, then speak with my kin again, before revealing anything. It is a great weight."

"If I can help in any way…"

Aragorn smiled. "I know, mellon nin." He turned as Gimli gave a roaring laugh at Merry's antics, as the hobbit now danced and sang a song of the Shire, surrounded by a circle of men. Then he found the dark haired lady at the table. "The lady Mary looks bent with sorrow and some unhappiness."

Legolas nodded. "She gives hope to us all, yet keeps none for herself."

Suddenly the room became silent. All eyes turned to the front, searching for a reason for the silence.

Théoden looked up from where he was sitting in his throne. "Perhaps the lady Mary would sing." He said. "Sing us a song of her world."

All eyes turned to where she sat, close to the table where Merry danced. She looked around, her cheeks quickly coloring. "I– I can't sing." She stammered.

"None of us can," Éomer laughed, gesturing to the circle of men that had, a moment ago, been belting out a song. There were scattered chuckles.

She bit her lip, her face growing redder. "I really– I don't know any songs that you would– that would please you."

"I don't know any, either!" Merry announced with a grin. "But I'm singing anyway!"

The men and women laughed. Mary still looked unsure, catching the hobbit's eye.

"Please sing." Merry said, looking at her quietly.

For a moment there was silence. Mary glanced at Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli, seeking confirmation. Aragorn nodded with a full smile, while Gimli raised his tankard of ale, nodding enthusiastically, but it was Legolas' reassuring, confident gaze that gave her the courage to finally rise to her feet. Stepping over to where the musicians had left their instruments, she lifted the fiddle and bow from its place, and returned to her place by the table. Setting it to her chin, her fingers stretching instinctively to find their places on the strings, she lifted the bow in her other hand. "I can't sing as well as you," she said. "But I can play some songs." With that she set the bow to the strings, drawing it across in a fluid motion, and a beautiful, aching sound filled the hall– like the call of a strange bird. The song was strong, not slow yet not fast, its notes rising and falling and skipping and then holding out for an impossibly long, drawn out moment, dissolving to a faint echo. Then it would start up again, dancing around them with light falls and steps, weaving amongst them like a faery in spring.

As the last note hung in the air everyone was still, letting the silence lay the note to rest. Then there was applause, many of the men nodding in approval. Merry cheered, raising his mug high.

Aragorn clapped, then he turned to Legolas. "I must return to my brethren." he said, standing relunctantly. "We still have much to discuss."

Legolas nodded. "Be sure to rest, Aragorn." he said. "Tomorrow we ride."

"Indeed." Aragorn's gaze grew dark. "Tomorrow we ride." Nodding to Gimli, he turned and left.

As people got up Mary started another song, this one fast and light, setting their feet to dancing and their voices to laughter. On through the night the celebration lasted, and Mary played all the long hours. Watching from where they sat, Legolas leaned back, his legs stretched and crossed before him. He saw the movement of her body follow the motions of the bow against the strings, swaying back and forth, how at times her eyes closed, letting herself be drawn into the music, losing herself and wrapping herself in its melody, and how at other times her eyes opened and seemed to dance with the high spirited notes, her cheeks flushing and her mouth lighting with a smile. The tension and weariness and sorrow that had hung upon her melted away, laid to rest by the act of playing upon the fiddle– though it could hardly be called that, as she drew sound from it that was more beautiful than simple fiddle-playing.

"It is well that she plays," Legolas murmured. "For it grieved me to see her shadowed with sorrow."

"Indeed." Gimli agreed, his voice soft for once.

"Bein beth a cal lalaith n-hen ant a eruanna." Legolas stated quietly, his fair blue eyes never blinking as they watched her. _Fair words and light laughter be her gift and grace._

Gimli nodded, then lifted his tankard of ale to his lips. "May her hope guide us all," he said. Then he glanced at Legolas. "And may she keep yours burning bright."

* * *

_The End… of this tale._

_Please watch the horizon for the final end of this story in "Red Sunset," soon to come.  
_

* * *


End file.
